Break of Dawn
by Nymphadora
Summary: DickonMary share their feelings. Fluff anyone?
1. Chapter 1

Dickon Sowerby sat alone in the secret garden. The sun was just beginning to rise, streaking the moorland sky with color. He had been up for hours now, taking comfort in the smell of Miss Mary's roses on the crisp, still morning air. Dickon had been sleeping less and less as of late. He would just lie awake in his bed, his mind reeling and his heart aching. Colin had been home for several weeks, and hadn't spared a moment before making his intentions known to Dickon. He wanted to ask Mary for her hand. Colin, of course, had been looking for someone to celebrate with him, and Dickon had smiled as best he could and congratulated his friend. Mary deserved to settle down with a wealthy gentleman, and he knew that Colin truly cared for her. Dickon also knew that no man could ever care for Mary as he himself did. In fact, he was certain that no man could possibly love a woman as he loved her.

He had loved her from the first moment he saw her. She reminded him of his mother's fairy stories, with her wild temper and restless spirit. As the years went by, his feelings for her had only intensified. But, as sure as he was that she was the one for him, he knew his chances with her were almost nonexistent. Mary would be the distiguished wife of some impossibly clean, refined nobleman, and he, a gardener, would grow as old and as bitter as Ben had.

His thoughts were disturbed by the sound of the garden gate opening. He watched the slender figure of the woman he loved appear before him. She smiled upon seeing him, causing a pang of heartbreak to pierce him. He managed a ghost of a smile. Mary seemed to pick up on his mood. Her expression changed to one of concern as she crossed to him. Dickon held back the urge to pull her to him. She sat very close to him, so that their elbows were touching. She smelled of honeysuckle.

"Dickon, what is it?" she asked softly. He could feel her breath, light upon his cheek.

"'Tis nothin', Miss Mary" he replied in barely more than a whisper. "I've just been thinkin', 'tis all."

"What about, then? What could be troubling you so?" Mary moved from her seat on the bench to the ground in front of him, so as to look into his downcast eyes. He looked into her lovely, worried face. He couldn't bring himself to respond. Mary's eyes softened.

"Colin asked me to marry him last night." Dickon turned his eyes away from her, unable to meet her gaze any longer.

"Congratulations, Miss Mary" he whispered, unable to speak for fear of weeping.

"I told him no, Dickon." Dickon's heart warmed a bit. Maybe he wouldn't lose her quite yet. "Do you know why?" she asked gently. He looked at her. There was a strange glint in her eye. "I told him that I couldn't marry him because..." she took a deep breath. "because my heart belongs to someone else." Dickon couldn't bear this torment any longer. He stood to leave. Mary stood too, walking up to stand behind him. "It's you, Dickon. It always has been, since we were children. It's you that keeps my heart. Dickon couldn't believe what he was hearing. She couldn't mean it. She put a hand on his shoulder. "Dickon, please look at me." He turned to face her.

"Why me?" he asked softly, not quite meeting her eyes. She looked at him quizzically. Dickon held back a sob that threatened to escape. "Mary, tha' could have any man in the world. I have nothin' to offer you. I'm a servant, Colin... Colin could give tha' everythin'...I..."

"Colin can't give me the only thing I truly want. I want you. I would rather starve to death with you than live in a palace with anyone else. I love this place because you're here. You are the magic in the garden, Dickon. You saved me from myself years ago, and I've been your's ever since. I know you feel the same...please, tell me that you do." Dickon felt the last of his resistance crumble away. He hesitantly raised a trembling hand to Mary's face, wiping away a tear that had escaped down her cheek.

"I love thee with everythin' that I am, Miss Mary. I canna give my heart to tha', because it isn' mine to give. I... I've never wanted anythin' as much as to be with tha', lass. Surely tha' already knew how I felt 'bout thee." Mary was crying in earnest now. Dickon slowly lowered his face to hers, fear and passion and ecstasy running through him like nothing he had ever felt before. His lips gently brushed her's, Mary pulling him down to deepen the kiss. He drew her in, wrapping his arms tightly around her. He couldn't bring himself to pull away. Mary ran her hands over his chest and neck, sending shivers through him. He forced himself to break the kiss. They stood there, breathless. "We've got t' stop now, luv." he panted. " 'fore we... 'fore thin's go too far." A blush crept up his cheeks. Mary caressed his face, smiling through her tears, her own face reddening slightly.

"I honestly don't think I'd mind too much if they did." she said rather shyly. Dickon laughed.

"Nor woud I lass, but I don't fancy givin' old Ben Weatherstaff a heart attack were he to peek o'er the hedges." Mary burst out in a fit of shaky laughter. That would make things around the manor rather awkward for a while. Dickon pushed a stray wisp of hair out of her eyes. "I should get abou' me work, Miss."

"Right..." Mary looked a little disappointed.

"Will I see tha' for lunch, then?" Dickon asked, needlessly, as they always had lunch together.

"Of course." She answered, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. He offered his arm to her. She took it, revelling in the still unfamilar intimacy. He stopped at the garden gate, and more courageously than before, pressed a kiss to her lips.

"I love thee, Miss Mary" he said, still inches from her face.

"I love you too, Dickon..." another tear fell from Mary's eye. Dickon wiped it away with a stroke of his thumb. He turned and opened the door for her, both smiling like fools. "Until later then?"

"Aye" he said, his voice soft.

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Okay, so, I suck at writing a Yorkshire accent. But, hey, it's my first try at a SG fic. I know it was a bit short, but I'm kind of notorious for that. This may be a oneshot, or it may be a multi-chapter. It all depends on the feedback. ;) You know the drill. lol.


	2. Chapter 2

"Son, I'm afraid there won't be any flowers left by the end of the day if you insist on tearing them all to shreds." Colin looked quickly from the colorful mess in front of him. His father was standing just outside the kitchen doors, a light smile playing on his aging features.

"Sorry, father. I'm rather distracted today, is all." Archibald Craven exhaled deeply, leaning against the doorway.

"If I had to guess, I would have to say that there is probably a fair bit more to it than that. You can confide in me, Colin." Casting away a mangled stem, Colin met his father's gaze for the first time.

"I think I'm in love with Mary. I can't be sure, but... she's the only woman I've ever found myself remotely interested in. I can't stop thinking about her, and--" At this, the elder held up a hand.

"Have you spoken to Mary about this? Is she aware of your feelings?" Colin gave a bitter laugh, dropping his forehead into his hands.

"God, is she. I asked her to marry me, father. Just last night, I took her into our garden, sat her down on mother's swing, and asked her to be my wife. What a fool I've been!" Colin felt embarassment rise up within him, mingling with the hurt and confusion that had already overtaken him. His father's eyes had widened briefly in surprise, but the expression had passed as quickly as it had come.

"I take it all did not go as planned. What did she say?" Archibald's voice was full of concern. Colin gathered his composure as he prepared to discard his last morsel of dignity.

"She rejected me. She said she could never marry someone she couldn't truly belong to. She said that she had been in love with somoene else for years, and was just waiting for him to come to his senses." Colin broke off, unable to say the name. His father nodded, looking at his hands.

"Dickon." It wasn't a question. Colin responded with a silence that spoke volumes. Apparently he and Dickon, ironically enough, had been the only two people in creation who hadn't predicted this outcome. "Mary is a restless spirit, much like yourself, actually. She's fiery and untamed as always, no matter how many coats of paint Medlock tries to hide her under. Mary is drawn to Dickon for the same reason all wild creatures are. What magic he has over them, I can't say. And, son, I am truly sorry that you have been disappointed. Believe me when I say that it grieves me to see you in pain, but try not to begrudge them this. I think if you look a little closer, you'll see that you and Mary Lennox are kindred spirits, though perhaps not soul mates. It is my opinion, forgive me, I know it was not asked of me, that the pair of you are far too much alike. Someday, dear boy, you'll meet someone who calms your stormy ways as Dickon has done for Mary. I apologize if I seem at all unsympathetic. But Colin, when you meet the woman you are meant to be with, you won't have to wonder if you love her." Colin sat, shaken by his father's words. He was not accustomed to anyone, save for Mary, being that frank, that brutally honest with him. At this point, the rebellious child within him threatened to rise up once more. Colin stifled his anger, trying not to appear fiery or untamed.

"If... if Dickon asks, then... you won't deny him, will you?" Archibald looked at his son with pity.

"No, I will not, son. I cannot deprive Mary of her happiness, anymore than I can give you yours." he turned to leave, but stopped and looked at Colin once more. "Are you really surprised by this?" Colin thought for a moment. He thought of the childhood games they had played, the long hours in the garden.

"Not really." he smiled ironically. His father crossed the garden and put a hand on his shoulder. The touch was more reassuring than Colin had expected it to be. "Thank you, father."

Lord Craven gave his son's shoulder one last squeeze before leaving him to his thoughts. Colin waited until he heard the heavy oak door close before roughly plucking up a marigold and tearing it's head off.

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Well, thanks to all you lovely reviewers. You've inspired me to continue with this story. This chapter was a tad off, I know. I just felt it neccesary to establish Colin's confusion a bit. Thanks again, so much.


	3. Chapter 3

There would be many people who would disapprove of Archibald Craven's decision to accept his niece's relationship with Dickon Sowerby. Neither of them had made it public knowledge at this point, but there was no denying the change in the atmosphere around Misselthwaite Manor. There was an electricity in the air, as if the earth itself was buzzing with anticipation. Everyone felt it. Lord Craven had found much amusement in watching Mrs. Medlock grow progressively twitchier at Mary's unnatural cheerfulness. The only cloud in their unusually sunny sky was Colin. He spent most of his days moping in his bed chamber. Archibald suspected that his ailment was slightly less due to heartbreak and more to wounded pride. As much as his son's misery pained him, he tried not to fuel the fire by placating him. He had learned the dangers of giving into the tantrums of petulant children, having had two of them come up in his home. He spent an hour each day playing chess with his son after dinner, and encouraged him to get some air. The subject of the failed proposal was not raised again.

Archibald was not naive. He knew that this would be quite a scandal once the word traveled, and that life would not be easy for the couple. He was prepared to ignore the legions of nobles assailing him with comments about allowing his ward to marry a gardener. He wouldn't dignify their snobbery with the true explanation. The truth of the matter was that he knew in his heart that had Lily been a commoner, he would have renounced his title and run away with her. In a time when society dictated the person you were matched with, he had the rare advantage of knowing what it felt like to truly be loved.

In reality though, he felt he could relate more closely with Dickon than Mary. In his younger days, he had not been considered much of a prospect. There was his title, and a comfortable amount of money, but Lily's family had been extremely well off. And, there was the matter of his…imperfection. Lily had married him not because he was the most worthy suitor, or the most handsome, but because she wanted him. He still wasn't entirely certain what had made her care for him so deeply. She had always said that there was magic inside of him that pulled her to him. And Dickon and Mary had magic that had saved his son's life. In some ways, he believed it was proof that _she _was still in that garden.

For these reasons, Archibald Craven would celebrate their happiness when they finally worked up the courage to make it known. He would let his own beloved live through Mary and Dickon's love affair, which so closely mirrored his own. They would have what he had only just tasted, and he would do all he could to see that things worked out for the better this time.

Mary made sure to circle the outer boarders of the garden twice before she entered, strolling at a leisurely pace to make it seem as though she were simply trying to decide which part was best for enjoying her lunch. She had taken quite a liking to picnics of late. The warm, kind woman who ran the kitchens had noted as she filled her basket with berries, bread, and cheese. It was true that she hadn't eaten so many meals outdoors since she was a child. She smiled as she realized that the reason for it was the same as it had been then. Her Dickon was waiting for her there. Their stolen moments in the garden were all they could afford to risk. Mary didn't want to upset Colin any further; he was already in such a state. But that was really the least of their worries. She had no idea how they would convince her uncle to allow their courtship to continue. Everything she knew of the world of curtsies and crumpets and lace, the world she could never completely belong to, told her that they would be shunned. She didn't mind what society thought, but it hurt to think of being rejected by what little family she had left. Even with these concerns, she knew she'd made her choice. And there he was, waiting just inside the door of their little haven, pulling her in for a sweet embrace and a tender kiss.

"Love, I tho' tha' would never get back t' me." Dickon's breath tickled her cheek as his rich voice sounded softly in her ear. "I've missed thee, my Mary". She could feel the warmth spreading from her heart to her fingertips. She loved the way he said her name. Mary blushed and took his arm, overwhelmed by the effect he always had on her. She leaned her head against his shoulder.

"My Dickon"

Sooo…I suck. Sorry guys, it's been forever. Thank you to all of my wonderful reviewers. I hope you're still out there.

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	4. Chapter 4

Dickon had never been wealthy. No one in his family had ever had much at all. That was probably the reason it had taken him so long to admit his feelings for Mary Lennox. He had loved her the moment he first saw her. She was like a wee wounded animal, angry and frightened. His heart had melted at the sight of her wild eyes. He'd longed to stroke her hair and speak softly to calm her fears. When he saw the goodness her bit of earth brought out in her, the fierceness of her love, he knew he'd never want another. At thirteen years old, he was certain of one thing. He would never marry. Unless he was granted a miracle that allowed him to have Mary as his wife, he would live out his days alone.

He thought back to the day several months ago when she had come to him in their garden, asking for his heart. His throat caught at the memory of her eyes, wide and pleading, as fearful as the day they met. He would have given her anything to see her happy, his meager possessions, his life, but she asked for what was already hers-everything.

So, there he stood outside Archibald Craven's study, waiting for his older sister to announce his presence to his employer, knowing full well his intentions. Martha, being Martha, was a tornado of mirth and terror. When Mary told her, she had cried the whole day. She was so afraid for them, despite being desperately happy. She loved them both so dearly, and hadn't dared to hope for them to see what was between them. They had always known, Dickon most resolutely, and so today he would ask permission to offer her the only thing that was truly his, his name.

Martha interrupted his thoughts by slipping out the study door and turning to face him. Tears were welling in her eyes as she straightened his shirt nervously. She looked up into his face.

"Tha truly dost love her, dunna little brother?" She gave him a watery smile before pulling him down into a crushing embrace. She then bustled off with her face in her hands, sobbing like a fool. He loved her all the more for it. He took a deep, steadying breath before stepping through the open door, his cap clutched tightly in his hands to keep them from trembling.

Archibald Craven sat at his large oak desk at the far side of the room. He looked up, smiled, and gestured to one of the velvet-covered chairs in front of the fire before getting up and walking toward the second chair. Dickon knew this was not typical treatment for a hired hand. It was what came of being a close friend of both his son and his niece. He hoped that what he was about to reveal wouldn't ruin Lord Craven's opinion of him forever.

"Hello Mr. Sowerby, how are you this evening?" Lord Craven wore a pleasant smile. Dickon swallowed hard. He wouldn't let Mary down, not after all she was risking for him.

"I'm well, sir. I was wonderin'…canna ask tha somethin'?" he flinched inwardly at the thickness of his accent. It seemed so out of place in here. He looked back to the other man, whose smile remained intact. He was slightly reassured.

"You've done much to secure the happiness of my family, you may ask anything you wish." He said it plainly, but with underlying sincerity. Dickon suppressed the last of his nervousness.

"It may come by surprise sir, but for a long while now I…I'm in love with Mary Lennox…and I'd like to respectfully ask thee for…for her hand, sir. Tha has reason for worry, I know, but I give tha my word, I'll take care o' her." Lord Craven locked his fingers under his chin, looking pensive.

"Have you spoken to Mary about this?" Dickon was taken aback by the absurdity of the idea. He almost laughed, but there was too little air in the room.

"I came to ask tha before sayin' anythin' about marriage, sir. But, Mary knows how I feel."

"And does my niece return your affections?" Dickon felt the familiar lump in his throat forming. He smiled softly.

"Lord knows why, but tha' she does, sir." Lord Craven smiled again.

"And, you feel confident that she would accept your proposal?" Dickon felt a spark of hope rise in his chest. It almost sounded as though he would be successful.

"Aye. I know tha' she would, sir." Dickon watched as Mary's uncle stood and held out his hand for Dickon to shake. Dickon followed suit.

"Then I suppose you should stop calling me "sir". I'm so very happy to be the first to congratulate you. " Dickon felt like his head would roll off his shoulders. He had said yes…without even hesitating."

"Tha…thank you, sir."

"Archibald, Dickon. And you're welcome."

Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Thanks to pansyphoenix for reviewing.


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